The Matters at Mansfield

They reached the inn and elected to partake of an early dinner. They were startled when their server appeared.

“Meg? Whatever are you doing?”

“One of the girls quit after Lady Catherine yelled at her again, and I have taken her job. I told you I would find a means of supporting myself.”

“But — do you want to work as a servant?”

“I worked at an inn before my marriage; I can work in one again.”

Within ten minutes, another pair of patrons had taken a table in the dining room: Mr. Rushworth and his mother. Meg greeted them with a smile. Mr. Rushworth returned it with a polite nod. The dowager scowled.

“Welcome,” Meg said. “Have you dined at the Ox and Bull before?”

“On a few occasions,” Mr. Rushworth replied. “Though when last we were here, we did not linger to eat.”

“Had places to be, did you?”

“Yes, we were on our way to London.”

“Well, I am glad you have returned. What can I bring you?”

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy. Had Mr. Rushworth gone to London to purchase a pistol after his discussion with Henry Crawford? He could not have returned quickly enough to have killed Mr. Crawford that night, but Mr. Crawford had been missing for days before his discovery — perhaps the murder had not taken place on the evening of his disappearance, but some time later.

On the other hand, perhaps Mr. Rushworth had been far to the south when the murder occurred.

Darcy answered her unspoken question in muted tones shielded from the Rushworths’ hearing by Meg’s cheerful chatter. “We can probably verify how long he was in London. If it was any length of time, he likely would have been seen at one of his clubs. Or perhaps he filed court papers related to the crim con trial. I will ask Mr. Harper to make some enquiries.”

Elizabeth knew their solicitor could be relied upon to conduct his investigation discreetly.

They finished their meal and headed for their chamber. As they reached the base of the stairs, the front door opened. An old man with a cane shuffled in, followed by his sullen son.

“Why, Mr. Darcy — it is Mr. Darcy, is it not? — how good to see you again.”

Lord Sennex had arrived.

Twenty-Two

“Younger sons cannot marry where they like… there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money.”

— Colonel Fitzwilliam, Pride and Prejudice

Lady Catherine gripped the top of the chair back, too impatient to sit down. “Whatever is taking his lordship so long?”

“Doubtless he requires more time than you or I to cope with the stairs,” Darcy replied. “I am sure he will be down as soon as he is able.”

The only room available for Lord Sennex’s use had been the upper-level chamber vacated by Mr. Lautus some days ago. That gentleman apparently had grown so weary of the Crawford — de Bourgh entourage occupying all the attention of the Bull’s employees that he had departed without so much as informing his host of his intention of never returning. Darcy was beginning to wish he could flee the inn himself. He had trouble tolerating his aunt for more than a se’nnight when he had all of Pemberley or Rosings in which to lose himself; the inn’s close quarters were becoming closer with each passing day.

As their party now comprised the whole of the inn’s guest list, Lady Catherine had commandeered the small parlor for their use in holding the imminent meeting. Colonel Fitzwilliam paced restlessly while Mr. Archer sat in front of the empty fireplace.

“This is not how I intended to conduct these negotiations,” his aunt said. “I had planned to send Mr. Archer to Hawthorn Manor. I certainly did not want Mr. Sennex and his lordship to come here, where they might encounter that Garrick woman flitting about and learn that Anne might never have been truly married.” She drummed her fingers on the chair. “I can manage Lord Sennex. It is Neville Sennex and their solicitor who concern me. Fortunately the solicitor is not expected for a day or two.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam halted his agitated movements. “I must again express my conviction that this betrothal is not in Anne’s best interest. I spoke with her not twenty minutes ago and she dreads the very thought of it. Indeed, I harbor reservations of my own about Mr. Sennex’s suitability. Anne’s cooperation is coerced by her contrition over the Crawford debacle and her reluctance to defy you.”

“So long as she cooperates, I do not care what her motivation is.”

“But in my opinion—”

“I have not solicited your opinion.”

“Then why have you asked me to this meeting?”

“For the same reason I invited Mr. Darcy to attend. I want your help in persuading Mr. Sennex to accept terms most advantageous to Anne.”

“Anne’s inheritance of Rosings is secure whether she marries or not,” Darcy said. “Why pressure her to wed at all?”

“To preserve her reputation. To ennoble our family line. To create another generation… if she has not begun that already.” She emitted a sound of disgust. “I pray she does not carry Mr. Crawford’s child. As it is, Mr. Sennex will almost certainly insist the wedding be postponed until that fact is determined.”

A moment later, Lord Sennex and his son entered. Lady Catherine greeted them warmly — as warm as conversation with her ladyship ever became — and invited them to sit.

Neville shook his head. “I am not staying. I only escorted my father down at his insistence.”

Lady Catherine frowned. “Surely you want a voice in these proceedings?”

“The only thing I have to say about the matter is that I refuse to participate. Your daughter’s elopement humiliated me beyond restitution. Henry Crawford might have managed to get himself killed before I had an opportunity to seek satisfaction, but I will not take his widow on any terms. No fortune in the world is worth lowering myself to accept used goods.”

Lady Catherine gasped.

“Neville,” the viscount said in a even tone, “you must reconsider—”

“No. As I told you the entire length of our journey, I am decided. If you remain determined to bring Miss de Bourgh — pardon me, Mrs. Crawford—into this family, you will have to marry her yourself.”

With that, he abruptly departed. All stared in silence at the door Mr. Sennex had closed behind him with force that echoed in the walls.

“I… er, I believe I need to sit down.” The viscount leaned heavily on his cane. Darcy went to him and assisted him into a chair.

Lady Catherine eyed him appraisingly.

“I–I am afraid I must apologize for my son. I had hoped that once we arrived… Perhaps if he could meet with Mrs. Crawford…”

“Given his present disposition, I do not think that advisable,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Lord Sennex released a sigh so heavy that it seemed to deflate his entire carriage. “I had so hoped to see him settled. Hawthorn Manor has been a lonely place since my wife passed away. I looked forward to a young bride cheering its halls again.”

Lady Catherine took the chair next to him. “How long have you been a widower?”

“Oh, it has been… now let me see…” His wrinkles deepened as he concentrated. He issued another sigh. “A